Although the curtain had fallen, the audience's singing continued for a while before gradually dying down.
Immediately afterward, there was a deathly silence, as if everyone was still immersed in the profound emotional shock, unable to extricate themselves.
Then—
"Bravo!!!"
Like a clap of thunder, deafening applause, cheers, and foot-stomping erupted instantly!
The floor of the entire Richelieu Hall vibrated!
The applause surged, wave after wave, persistent, as if threatening to lift the theater's dome!
The lights came back on, and the actors collectively took the stage for their curtain call.
Jean Mounet-Sully, François Jules Edmond Gautier-Luzarche, the young actor Léopold-Barre…
Each actor's appearance was met with even more enthusiastic cheers.
Finally, when the young Lionel Sorel and Achille-Claude Debussy were pushed to the front of the stage, the applause reached a new climax!
Just then, something unexpected happened.
In a section of the audience near the Archbishop's box, someone was the first to turn around, face the Archbishop's box, and begin to applaud!
This action seemed infectious.
Soon, like a wave, one section of the audience after another turned around, tears of unspent emotion still visible on their faces.
The applause and cheers began to surge towards Archbishop Guibert's box!
The Archbishop was completely bewildered.
He stood at the front of his box, looking at the countless faces below that were turned towards him, full of "enthusiasm" and "respect," listening to the applause and cheers directed at him, his mind a complete blank.
For a moment, he even experienced serious hallucinations and self-doubt:
"Am I losing my mind? They… they are applauding for me?"
"Applauding for me after that play that demonized the Church? How is that possible?!"
His face went from pale to a bewildered flush.
Monsignor Vallette and other attendants were also stunned, exchanging glances, unsure how to react.
The Archbishop mechanically and stiffly raised his hand, trying to acknowledge this bizarre applause, but his arm felt heavy as lead.
His smile was forced and distorted, uglier than a cry.
He completely failed to comprehend what was happening at this moment.
Was this applause sincere tribute, or immense irony?
He felt like a clown pushed onto the stage, standing in full view of everyone, yet completely unaware of his role or lines.
Below, the applause continued, wave after wave, as if to completely drown him in this ocean of emotion that he could neither understand nor control.
Lionel Sorel's The Chorus concluded its premiere in an utterly unpredictable and highly dramatic fashion.
——————
The morning of December 27, 1879, in Paris, was awakened by the newsboys' cries, sharper and more excited than usual.
"Read Le Figaro! Praises The Chorus! Apology to Monsieur Sorel!"
"La République! Admits misjudgment of The Chorus! Calls it the most moving play of the year!"
"Le Petit Journal! The night of The Chorus, a night of miracles! Not a Parisian if you haven't seen it!"
"L'Univers! His Excellency the Archbishop's great foresight! The Church embraces change!"
Almost every influential newspaper, on its front page or culture section, reported the unprecedented success of The Chorus's premiere using the most prominent fonts and largest layouts.
The enthusiasm of their words and the high praise were unparalleled in the Parisian art world in recent years.
In Le Figaro, Jules Claretie, who had previously held reservations, personally penned a lengthy review titled "We Were Wrong, Monsieur Sorel; Thank You, Monsieur Sorel":
[...Last night, what unfolded at the Comédie-Française was not merely a play, but a baptism of the soul.
Monsieur Lionel Sorel's The Chorus, with its genuine emotion, exquisite structure, and profoundly moving music, completely captivated Paris's most demanding audience.
We must admit that in our previous comments, our conservatism and caution, based on seniority and experience, were an underestimation and an offense to true genius.
Here, we extend our sincerest apologies to Monsieur Sorel.
His pen not only tells a moving story but also touches upon the essence of education—
It is not cold discipline and punishment, but guidance through love, patience, and beauty.
The Chorus is an undeniable masterpiece; it belongs to all those whose hearts have not yet completely turned to stone.]
La République's article highly praised The Chorus for perfectly embodying the spirit of "secular education," proclaiming that teacher Mathieu was the embodiment of the Republic's ideal teacher.
Popular newspapers like Le Petit Parisien focused on the play's emotional impact and star actors, using headlines like "Tears Shed in Richelieu Hall" and "Applause Lasted Half an Hour" to grab attention, and published large-scale sketches of the actors' curtain call and the audience's excitement.
But even more surprising was the extensive praise for Louis-Antoine-Augustin Guibert published in these newspapers.
Le Figaro even published an editorial on its front page titled "Archbishop Guibert's Foresight and the Church's Benevolent Turn":
[...Last night, the success of The Chorus was not accidental.
It was made possible through the deep concern and vigorous promotion of the highest leader of our Paris diocese, His Excellency Archbishop Louis-Antoine-Augustin Guibert.
His Excellency the Archbishop, with his extraordinary insight and broad mind, had long foreseen the positive social effects this play could bring.
This reflects the Church's deep concern and paternal love for the future of France...
This fully demonstrates that the Church has the courage to confront the past and the wisdom to create the future.
By supporting The Chorus, His Excellency the Archbishop sent a clear signal of goodwill to all of Paris and all of France:
The Church is not an obstacle to educational reform; this is a great, compassionate step forward with the times!]
Le Petit Parisien even used an extremely sycophantic headline—"The 'People's Bishop'—Louis-Antoine-Augustin Guibert"
[...When the audience in Richelieu Hall spontaneously gave His Excellency the Archbishop thunderous applause and cheers, history recorded that moment.
This was not applause dedicated to a play, but the heartfelt love and gratitude of the Parisian people for their spiritual leader!
Thanks to him for overcoming opposition to support this profound work; thanks to him for understanding the power of art; thanks to him for showing the progressive, enlightened, and self-reflective side of the Church!
His Excellency Archbishop Guibert, through his practical actions, proved that he is truly a "People's Bishop" who understands the suffering of the people and listens to the voice of the times!
Under his leadership, we believe that the integration of the Church and modern France will open a new chapter…]
Other newspapers, large and small, quickly followed suit, almost unanimously portraying Archbishop Guibert as an enlightened, tolerant, farsighted, and popular religious reformer.
The title "People's Bishop" spread throughout Paris at an astonishing speed.
——————
Meanwhile, in the Archbishop's private study, Archbishop Louis-Antoine-Augustin Guibert faced a mountain of newspapers on his desk, his expression constantly changing.
His mood was as complex as if an entire chemistry lab's reagent bottles had been overturned.
His fingers trembled as they traced the words praising Lionel in Le Figaro, a surge of anger rushing to his head:
"Liar! Thief! Shameless literati!"
He almost roared.
Lionel Sorel! This despicable fellow, with a play that thoroughly smeared the Church, not only fooled him but also earned immense fame and fortune!
And he, the esteemed Archbishop, had actually become an "accomplice" and a stepping stone in this deception!
This feeling of being used and played for a fool gnawed at his pride and dignity like a venomous snake.
He wished he could immediately use all his power to ban this play and ruin Lionel's reputation.
But the next second, his gaze fell on the pages of the newspaper filled with flattering words.
"The Church's benevolent turn," "compassionate step forward with the times," "the People's Bishop"...
These words were like magical feathers, gently tickling his deepest vanity and lust for power.
The flames of anger seemed to be doused with a layer of sweet honey, creating a strange, dizzying flavor, albeit peculiar.
He could clearly recall the surging sound of the audience's applause and cheers directed at him last night, the countless excited and "adoring" faces turned his way.
That feeling of being the center of attention, that illusion of truly becoming the spiritual leader of the people... it was so wonderful, so intoxicating.
Even though he knew it stemmed from a colossal misunderstanding, this unprecedented popularity, this overwhelming reputation, was something he had never experienced before.
His emotions swung wildly between extreme anger and extreme enjoyment.
He murmured to himself,
"They... they are truly praising me? If... if they truly believe this is my 'foresight'...
If this can really enhance my image and the Church's image... perhaps..."
A dangerous and tempting thought began to grow in his mind:
'Perhaps... no need to clarify? Perhaps he could let the misunderstanding stand? Admitting this "glory" might, on the contrary, earn him immense political capital and public support?'
After all, the newspapers had already written it, and the public already believed it; to forcibly deny it would only make him look like a fickle, foolish, and petty idiot.
However, the content of Lionel and The Chorus was like a thorn in his throat.
To implicitly accept and enjoy this glory based on "betrayal" was simply spiritual torture.
He fell into immense confusion and entanglement.
On one hand, he deeply detested Lionel Sorel and the play The Chorus;
On the other hand, he coveted and desired the immense prestige and public affection that came with it.
These two diametrically opposed emotions fiercely battled within him, making him restless and moody.
He would sometimes grit his teeth at Lionel's name in the newspaper, and then at other times show an irrepressible, twisted smile at the words "People's Bishop."
Just then, his assistant knocked on the door:
"Your Grace, a visitor wishes to see you."
Archbishop Guibert quickly adjusted his expression to solemn and dignified:
"Who?"
The assistant hesitated for a moment, then reported the name:
"Lionel Sorel."
(End of chapter)
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